The Fifteenth Day
by Mally O'Jack
Summary: A story set during the episode Thirty Days. Of all the days, it was the fifteenth day that was the worst.


It was after getting stuck in a very small, very old, Soviet lift that I started musing about the nature of claustrophobia. It also made me view the season 5 episode Thirty Days in a different light. (I realise that there have been many great stories written around this episode, however I think if you write for Paris, a 30-days fic is inevitable sooner or later!).

Hope you enjoy reading this, I'd love to hear your thoughts and any insights you may have.

The Fifteenth Day

by Mally O'Jack

"_Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris... I sentence you to thirty days solitary confinement."_

* * *

"Anything to report?" Ayala asked. He'd been away assisting Tuvok in running security exercises for the past week or so.

"Conduit in cell two's malfunctioning," Crewman Jarvin replied. "Some of Torres's guys looked at it, but it's still not right."

There was a cry from the brig. Ayala glanced over; the occupant was thrashing around in his sleep, moaning.

"Oh yeah. And that." Jarvin folded his arms. "Every night, now. During the day, too, sometimes."

Another strangled cry. Gasps for breath.

"He should be used to it by now. He was in jail before, wasn't he?"

Ayala shrugged. For some reason, he didn't want to talk about Paris's history. Not with Jarvin.

Unperturbed, Jarvin whistled through his teeth. "Living the life of Riley, he is. All he does is sleep."

That was odd. Ayala remembered when Paris first entered the brig. He'd been a blaze of activity; exercising, pacing, complaining about the food, requesting visitors, dictating into that padd of his. He'd been almost manic.

"I could use some sleep, let me tell you. I'm thinking of spending thirty days in the brig myself. Relax for a month, get my meals delivered to me. Not that he's eating them; flushes them in the replicator when he thinks we're not looking. Guess he's used to the fancy food - wasn't his old man an Admiral?"

Paris sat bolt upright then, awake, panting. Swore softly to himself. Raked shaking hands through his hair. Then he caught sight of Ayala and Jarvin.

Ayala lowered his gaze, and when he looked up again, the pilot had turned away, his back to them.

"Catch you later," Jarvin said, slapping Ayala on the back. "Have fun babysitting."

Throughout the day, Ayala kept a close eye on Paris. He saw Paris stagger up at one point to collect the lunch tray, and noted the pilot's drawn features. Looked like he'd lost a few pounds since Ayala had last seen him. He pretended to be studying his console, and looked up surreptitiously to see Paris taking a token bite from the meal, then dumping the rest. It was the same routine again at dinner. Something was definitely off. And although he still didn't like Paris all that much, his job was to "attend to the welfare of the prisoner" as Tuvok had phrased it. Except this prisoner didn't seem to be faring too well. He decided to alert the Doctor.

000

"Wakey wakey, Ensign," said the Doctor, tapping the sleeping pilot on the shoulder.

Paris squinted up at him, bleary-eyed. "Doc?" he mumbled. "What're you doing here?"

"Security informs me that you're not eating. And my scans confirm it; low blood sugar, weight loss, borderline anaemia - "

"I get the picture," Paris said, swinging his legs round to sit up.

"If this is some misguided attempt at a hunger strike - "

"It's not a hunger strike," he said vehemently. "I'm just not hungry."

"Well, this should replace some of the nutrients you've lost." The Doctor brandished a hypospray, but to his surprise Paris flinched away and stood up.

"I don't need it."

"I'm sorry; have you suddenly gained a medical degree during your stay in the brig?" Paris remained silent. "I didn't think so." He injected the contents of his hypospray into the pilot's neck.

"Got any sedatives?" Paris said suddenly. "I've not been sleeping lately."

"Nonsense," he said, packing up his medicase. "According to Mr. Ayala, all you do is sleep." And then some part of his programming made a connection, for understanding suddenly dawned on him. "Is that why you weren't eating? You were trying to create some sort of artificial lethargy?"

Paris looked away, the mutinous expression on his face confirming the Doctor's suspicions.

He couldn't help but feel incensed. "Mr. Paris, that's imprudent, even for you. You're supposed to be thinking about what you've done, not whiling away the hours in unconsciousness."

The forcefield deactivated and he stepped over onto the other side. The forcefield activated again with a hum.

"If I hear that you're still not eating properly, I'll ask the Captain to extend your sentence to forty days."

He had intended his words as a joke, but his enhanced vision caught the sharp intake of breath, the sudden increase in pulse rate. "Cheer up, Ensign," he said in a kinder tone. "You're halfway through."

Paris smiled at him. It was an odd smile, one that he couldn't interpret. "Right."

000

"It's a punishment, Doctor, not a holiday," Janeway found herself saying again. She had made her decision, and she couldn't allow herself to become emotionally involved. Not whilst she still held the power to reverse that decision.

"I know, Captain. That's what I told him."

Janeway stopped massaging her temples, and held out her hands. "Then what's the problem?"

"He was trying to starve himself to make the time pass quicker. Knowing Mr. Paris, he might decide to embark on another equally harebrained course of action."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Apparently he was recording a letter to his father. Perhaps a visit from Ensign Kim might encourage him to continue it?"

"Harry has been asking to visit," she said, more to herself. After all this time, after all that had happened, she was struck to hear that Tom still cared what his father thought of him.

"Captain?"

"All right, Doctor," she said, standing up. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I'll send Harry to visit him tomorrow."

000

That evening, Chakotay entered sickbay cradling his hand.

"Doctor," he said.

"Take a seat on the biobed," the EMH said. He ran a scanner over the swollen knuckles. "What happened?"

"I was sparring on the holodeck, and my right hook went a little long."

"Hmm. Ruptured tendon . What about the safety protocols?"

Chakotay smiled grimly. "I turned them off."

"Of course you did," the Doctor said, taking out the regenerator. "Evidently no one on Voyager cares about their health anymore."

At Chakotay's questioning look, the Doctor said, "Oh, Mr. Paris, just being...well, Mr. Paris. Now hold still."

000

Meanwhile, in the brig, Tom Paris was wired. Even though it was getting late, he didn't feel tired. He felt more energised than he had in days. Damn the Doctor!

He was pacing the distance between the two bulkheads, but that only served to remind him how small the room really was. And so he lay down on the bunk, but couldn't stay still for long. He was too on edge. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, and for the first time since being in the brig, he actually went up to the forcefield. Stood so close his skin started tingling from the static. He reached out to touch the forcefield, and then forced his arm back. Turned away. Had it suddenly got hotter in here?

He sat with his back against the bulkhead, trying to remain calm. But then he could hear Ayala tinkering with the conduit in the adjacent brig. The sound jarred his nerves, he couldn't think straight, and so he stood up again. It was warmer, he was sure of it.

He stood in the centre of the brig, and there was nothing to focus his mind on. Nothing to distract him.

And it was then that all those feelings that he'd managed to keep suppressed came rushing back. That overwhelming urge to escape, to _get out,_ to go somewhere where there was air and space to move and sky. He couldn't stay in this cramped cell anymore where there wasn't enough air and it was too hot and noisy and bright and small and there was no air...

000

It was 2200 hours. Chakotay put down his padd. Ever since the Doctor had made that cryptic remark about Paris, he couldn't stop thinking of the pilot down in the brig. The idea nagged at him. Disturbed him. Because he knew what had happened before.

It was when they were in the Maquis together - Chakotay had led a small strike force deep down into one of the Cardie bases. During their mission, the base got bombed. Chakotay, together with Paris and a couple of others, had been trapped in a corridor. Together they began the painstaking task of shifting rubble and debris. And that was when they had heard it. Frantic gasps in the darkness, a desperate gulping for air, obviously stifled, but still loud enough for the rest of the team to hear. And when they'd managed to dig themselves out, Paris had stepped into the light, looking like he was ready to faint - but it had been that expression on his face that haunted Chakotay now. Such embarrassment and shame. And defiance.

Chakotay had called him on it after; "You're claustrophobic?"

Paris had stiffened. "I don't like to feel trapped." Then he'd smirked at Chakotay; "but hey, who does, right?" And that had been the end of the discussion.

Probably it was nothing. Harry was visiting the pilot tomorrow.

But he thought he'd take a walk down to the brig anyway. Just in case.

* * *

Chakotay looked over into the cell. Paris was sat on the floor, his back against the bed, one hand on the bunk frame and the other holding onto the bulkhead. He had his eyes closed. He seemed okay.

But then, as he looked closer, he saw Paris's chest rising and falling quickly. Saw how white the knuckles were that gripped the bunk.

"Tom?"

Paris's eyes flew open.

"Mind if I come in?"

"Yes."

Ayala appeared then from the adjacent brig, a hydrospanner in his hand. "Commander?" he said, evidently confused.

"Let me in, would you?" he said, jerking his head towards the cell. After a pause, Ayala keyed in the code. Chakotay stepped into the cell, and the forcefield went up again.

000

"The Captain know you're here?"

Chakotay didn't reply. He was looking around the brig. "It's cosy," he said at last.

"Yeah, it's a regular hotel." He couldn't stop the trembling. "What do you want?" Damn, that came out a little more hostile than he intended.

Chakotay glanced at him. "I wanted to see how you were coping."

He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. "Oh, you know. Living the dream." His blood was roaring in his ears, and he felt dizzy having to look up. "No offense Chakotay, but I'd rather be left alone."

"Why didn't you tell the Doctor about the claustrophobia?"

He was thrown off. "What?"

"No one would think any less of you if you finished your punishment scrubbing Jefferies Tubes."

"It wasn't a big deal at first," he said truthfully.

"Looks like a big deal from where I'm standing."

He didn't say anything. He was starting to feel a little light-headed.

"Tom, I'm going to call for a beam-out -"

"No," he said forcefully. "I'm handling it."

"You look like you're about to pass out."

He tried to grin, to reassure Chakotay. "I'm okay...it's just - it felt like there was no air, you know? And I had to get out..and I realised that I couldn't - but I was going to start trying – but the forcefield – I was gonna fry myself on it - and everyone would be watching – me go nuts -" He was struggling to breathe now and his vision was fading out round the edges.

He was vaguely aware of Chakotay kneeling in front of him, seizing his arms. "Cup your hands over your mouth and breathe slowly," he heard Chakotay say, and he leant forward, tried to wrench his arms out of Chakotay's grip, "Cup your hands over your mouth," Chakotay said again, more insistently. Ayala was standing in the entrance of the cell, but he saw Chakotay dismiss him.

Gradually his breathing slowed down and leveled out. Chakotay sat next to him, waiting patiently. He dropped his hands into his lap, and swore under his breath. He felt Chakotay's gaze on him, and before Chakotay could say anything, he said, "Please let me stay."

There was a pause.

"Why? Out of guilt?" Chakotay said eventually. "You feel like you owe it to the Captain?"

He shook his head.

"Then – what?"

He looked down. "If I don't finish this," he said haltingly, "then it will never _be_ finished. It's like I'll always be here." He wasn't explaining himself very well. But surprisingly, Chakotay nodded as if he'd said something very zen.

They sat there in silence for a while. He longed to go back to his quarters and sleep. Or better yet, go to B'Elanna's quarters and sleep, holding her in his arms. But the forcefield was there, waiting for him. And he knew with a sick certainty that when Chakotay left, he'd keep it together for another hour, maybe. Maybe two. And then he would start trying to get out.

The thought sent a wave of panic through him, and he felt his heart start beating to quarters again, felt his breath quicken. His hands moved back to grip the bed frame again, but it wasn't much of an anchor. Chakotay was looking at him, but he was past caring.

"Please go," he said again.

For some reason, Chakotay had been playing with the padd, the one he'd discarded. Placed it carefully on the bed. Stood up, knees cracking.

He felt like he going to be sick. If he could just make it through the night. Tomorrow he could deal with. _Please, dear God, if you're there, please let me just get through this night. _

As he watched Chakotay walk away, he gripped the bed frame even tighter so that his arms shook with the tension. He wanted to call out to Chakotay, to thank him. Somehow his presence had made the brig seem bigger. But he was afraid that if he spoke, he would start begging. Or worse. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the forcefield go down.

He heard Chakotay address Ayala.

"Lieutenant. I'll be staying in the brig tonight."

His eyes shot open.

"Sir?"

"You heard me."

"Aye, sir." Ayala looked bemused.

And Chakotay sat down inside the brig, at the entrance. "This is just for tonight, mind," he said to Paris.

"Chakotay -"

"If you wake me, I'll break your nose." There was a glint of humour in Chakotay's eyes. "I'm sure that'll take your mind off your claustrophobia."

He watched incredulously as Chakotay leant back against the wall, his hands clasped in his lap.

The next day Paris was woken by Harry, and he continued with his letter.

And after the thirtieth day, he was free.

_Finis_


End file.
